


Barkeep's place

by ZoenOut



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gay Bar, Gay Male Character, How Do I Tag, Memories, Young Characters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-25
Updated: 2020-05-25
Packaged: 2021-03-02 22:14:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24374104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ZoenOut/pseuds/ZoenOut
Summary: There are some places you remember, some places you'll never forget.





	Barkeep's place

There are some places you just remember.  
Those places where if you think of them, then close your eyes, they are there in your mind. You know you're there, you can feel the scents and hear the sounds. You just can’t help but wonder if they’re still there, at the same spot, just the way you remember it, just the way you left it. Untouched. I have one such place.

It was in a basement, that I remember clearly. That entire place would best be described as “shady”. You got in through an old door, one of those that usually lead to apartments, and sit a bit into the wall with a keypad at the side of it. It was one of those doors that was just inviting. Even if you didn’t exactly know which way to open it you always got it right and it had that click when it closed. That click that made you secluded from the world. That click that ensured no one who didn’t belong there would get in. Inside the door there were two flights of stairs; one going up, and one going down. The first one leading up to those apartments (although I could never actually imagine people living there), and the other staircase down consisting of just five steps. When you went down the smaller stairs, you’d reach a flat area with a cement floor. The first thing you’d notice was a second door that led to a laundry-room. Something that you’d never notice was an old lift. If the rest had been shady, then this took the word to a new level. It was clearly old and your first impulse was that it obviously wasn’t in operation anymore. Maybe you’d step inside, just for a moment only to see what the world looked like from the inside. But few actually pressed a button or closed the door. Not many people knew what it led to and what was underneath the building. 

A friend of mine owned the place. I barely know her name now, I knew it once, but everyone just referred to her as “Barkeep” and then I soon forgot what I’d called her by. I think it might have started with an E, but things fade and, honestly, I’m not sure anymore. I’m not sure exactly how she got the place. It was a separate property from the apartments. That was some deal made a long time ago, and through some legal loophole, it’d all become hers, even though she was barely seventeen when I knew her. What was surprising is that she had definitely had the place for more than a year. She never explained it much and I never bothered to ask. The only way to get in was if you knew her. If she liked you, you’d receive an invite; just a code for the door and an address along with a note leading you to the basement. Then there were the few people who had gotten in and then been “banished” (that’s what she’d call it anyways). Everybody knew who was allowed inside and who wasn’t. There was almost always someone there too, so if one of these banished people would try to get in they would regret it shortly. But then again, those who weren’t allowed in were few and far between.

I never got to know everybody who visited, as there were many. The only way you knew who wasn’t allowed in was small notes stuck on a pinboard next to the door. They were written on any piece of paper Barkeeper had her hands on; old receipts, post-it notes, whatever. It was clear that Barkeep tacked them up as fast as possible, and if you dared take one down, you’d soon end up there yourself. The notes were such things as:  
“Asshole:  
“Tall, blond, wears a leather jacket and smells like cigarette smoke.  
“Will most likely try to get in through a business card he got from me.  
“Speaks in a smooth voice and scoffs instead of laughing.  
“Looks like a stereotypical asshole.  
“Reason of banishment: being an asshole.”  
They were all a particularly likable blend of salty and funny. 

The whole place seemed to be in some sort of a legal grey-area. Everyone knew that it wasn’t completely legal but there was an unspoken understanding that no cops would show up and all illegal activities that weren’t approved by Barkeep were off the table. It all felt oddly safe. I think she explained it to me once. Apparently the place wasn’t even on standard maps, as if it didn’t exist. At least not in the way it did. All the police knew was that through some “legal agreement too weird to look into” (her words, not mine) a property that was basically just a lift shaft was owned by a seventeen year old. Barkeep had heard from rumors (as well as some contacts of her own) that the police had stopped thinking about it, and they were most definitely not looking into it. That wasn’t an issue anymore but that night she told me that she did worry. Worry that if something happened, if they had to get some professional involved and they found out that she’d basically been lying, bad things could happen to her and the people who knew about it. I clearly remember her sighing, turning towards me and looking me in the eyes before saying:  
“But we can’t worry too much about that, can we?”

Now that I’ve explained how that place could even exist and how we could do the things we did, I’ll get into the place itself. So far I’ve only mentioned a pinboard next to a door. From Barkeep’s nickname you might have guessed that the place was something similar to a bar. You’d be right. When you got out of the lift you’d be faced with a corridor, dimly lit with flickering lights. If you began walking down it you’d start hearing soft rock or jazz playing. If you actually made it through without chickening out (there was another option to get through the corridor, I’ll tell you about it later) you’d find yourself facing a door made from dark wood with a dead neon sign on the outside. You’d do well not to knock, if you did you had to buy a drink for the first person who opened for you. Some of the more odd people in the bunch could spend an entire night camping by the door, hoping to get a drink. Now for that second option. Outside the lift there was a button with a sign above it. The sign read:  
“First time?  
Call Barkeep!”  
If you pressed the button some ingenious contraption would go off and a sign inside the bar would start flashing.  
“Time for crowd-surfing!”  
On command everyone would rush out to the unexpecting fellow and they’d get to be carried inside. All these quirks didn’t happen too often, most people who visited where regulars, but they happened often enough to be exciting. If you missed it someone would definitely recognize you and tell you about it the next time you dropped in.  
“Hey you! You weren’t here Tuesday! A new guy came in, redhead with sunglasses. Yeah he pressed the button! He got pretty cranky afterwards though, got a free drink for the trouble! I don’t think he’ll come back but you can always hope, can’t you?”

Barkeep sold alcohol. As with all places who do someone always needs to be cut off. As with all Barkeep did she also did this with a smile and a healthy bit of humor. If she decided someone better go home, it could be for any reason really, she’d stand up, hand in the air and yell:  
“Take this one outside!”  
At that someone would usually volunteer. That position included not only following the poor dear outside but also escorting them home, to their bus or what have you. It was all in good fun and being taken outside wasn’t the same as banishment, you could come back any time. That was the only one of Barkeep’s ideas that actually happened to me. Apparently she’d glanced to the clock and seen that I needed to be home very soon. So, as if it was any other time she stood up in a dramatic way and pointed at me.  
“Take this one outside!” she yelled. Everyone began chuckling to themselves. “Quickly please!” she added. At that moment it seemed as if everyone knew me. I guess a scrawny punk-looking kid who was there to escape his parents soon got a fair bit of sympathy. As it ended up a pretty big guy followed me home and helped me make up an excuse, a good one. I actually didn’t get in trouble that night, all thanks to Barkeep and that guy, the name was Nicholas. 

When you got inside the door (being carried or otherwise) you’d be met with a relatively big room. There was a bar full of bottles, some for decoration, some for usage, behind which stood Barkeep, always wearing a big and friendly smile. There were chairs by the bar, the tall ones with red leather pillow, and throughout the room there were brown leather couches that would best be described as “Fat”. There was a carpet, it had something ridiculous written on it, I think it said “No puke zone, carpet is expensive”. Money wasn’t often an issue. Well, there were some times Barkeep would reluctantly stand up and, with a voice that sounded slightly guilty, say:  
“Sorry guys, we’re not selling enough. If you want anything to drink for a while I’m afraid I’ll have to ask for a donation.”  
Anyone who had extra money would help keep the place running, it was part of the deal. It didn’t happen often but I sometimes saw Barkeep whisper to someone that:  
“If you still want that pisco, for this month that is, I’ll have it sorted by next month, I’ll have to have a few dollars from you. I wish I could say that I’ll pay you back but at this moment I don’t know that I’ll be able to.”  
Everyone there knew that either you payed or you settled for something that was either cheaper or more popular. 

On the back wall there was a dartboard. It had to have been there for a long time because there were holes all over the wall and if anyone got that drunk under Barkeep’s rule they’d have been taken outside a long time ago. There was one bathroom, it was the most scrappy part of the whole deal. The door had a split at the top, not enough to look inside but enough to both see the anger of the one who caused it and make the door slightly difficult to close. There weren’t many who used it. The rest of the walls were covered in old posters, some looked more home made than others. My favourite was one had a motif of a cigar in a stylistic circle and the words “Mama’s lair” written on it, all in black and gold. The entire place smelled slightly of cigarette smoke, more so if anyone there that night smoked. 

Barkeep’s place really was a home away from home and practically fit for Freddie Mercury himself. Barkeep would usually joke that they’d had Freddie there as a guest. I’m not sure I believed it but it was indeed a fun story. 

The time I spent at Barkeep’s place was fun but it had to end. About a year after I’d first gone, an evening with slushy snow, I’d come just to find the door barricaded. I couldn’t get in. I think I cried. I think I went back for way too long trying not to accept that I’d never get back there. And then I moved away. It was for school and all for the best, I met people, I did fun things. It wasn’t too bad but I can’t say I didn’t miss Barkeep. 

I’d like to think that it was just a hoaks to fool someone, that there was another entrance and that Barkeep’s place is still up and running. I’d like to think that.  
I don’t like to think that Barkeep’s anxieties came true, that someone found out and that the reason I never heard from her was that she didn’t want me to get in trouble too.  
I don’t think anyone of us actually remembered Barkeep’s actual name so I couldn’t check newspapers for any news on her.  
Maybe she just moved away without telling anybody.

But everything didn’t disappear without a trace. A few years later I ran into Nicholas at another bar (one not as cozy as Barkeep’s). We began talking and kept in touch. Turns out he was closer to my age than I thought, he showed me all the best gay bars in London and things just escalated. 

I do miss Barkeep’s place.  
In my mind it’s still there, just the way I remember it.  
And maybe, somewhere, it is.


End file.
